Gaza: In need of peace
In freedom-starved, violent part of Holy Land, everyone pays for the hate
Marylynn G. Hewitt, SFO of The Michigan Catholic
Published November 10, 2006
Editor's note: Marylynn G. Hewitt, SFO, was one of four journalists traveling to the Holy Land with Catholic Relief Services as a winner of the Egan Award for Journalistic Excellence.
We may have been the last ones out of the Erez border crossing from the Gaza Strip before Beit Hanoun, the border city, was shut down Nov. 1 in the latest incursion in this place called "the world's largest prison."
A fear-fueled silence seized the inside of our van – a sharp contrast to the buzz of the F16 fighter jets, the menacing whirl of helicopters, the Israeli tanks plowing through the neighborhood to our right, and the enraged chanting from a funeral procession on our left.
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Photo by Marylynn G. Hewitt, SFO | The Michigan Catholic
Omar I. Sha'ban, Gaza field manager for Catholic Relief Services, talks to the Presidential Guard who served as military escorts on our trip through the Gaza Strip. | And all the shooting.
We did not know if we would make it out alive. It was All Saints Day.
In the previous weeks, the tension level had decreased over the Gaza Strip.
The Gaza Strip is one of the most densely populated areas in the world with 1.5 million people living in a 24-mile by eight-mile area.
Late the night before we entered the area, Catholic Relief Services made its final decision to visit the programs there supported by CRS donors.
Since the January election of Hamas, which the United States lists as a terrorist organization, life has become even tougher for those, including the 2,000 Christians, in the Gaza Strip.
And while other Palestinians living in the West Bank are restricted from moving from area to area by inhumane checkpoints and live in the presence of the barrier wall or prison-style fencing, those in Gaza are living what can only be described as lifetime solitary military confinement — without the perks of prison. The Israeli settlers left in August 2005, after 38 years of occupation, but the military presence did not. Humanitarian aid and food shipments are limited and often cut. Electricity is often out. And always, there is the fear of gunfire, shelling or bombing.
The war here is not a religious war but a political one. Everyone pays for the hate. I remember what my pastor says: "What is not transformed is transferred." The vicious cycle of the latter sucks life away.
Once inside the Gaza Strip, we — four journalists and four CRS staffers — are met by the Presidential Guard, a military unit in a truck, who help with safe passage. We visit two refugee camps where CRS helps build youth leaders. We talk to teens and young adults who have taken every breath as a refugee in an occupied territory. They have somehow found a place for hope in living conditions that remain dire, dangerous and seemingly uninhabitable. They come together here to help others, clean streets, encourage each other, build friendships, and look and work toward a future of peace.
Some of us visit with Fr. Manuel Musallam, the only Catholic priest in the Gaza Strip. Others visit with a family. That evening we share conversation with a group of Gaza professionals. When we hear gunfire in the distance; someone says "there must be a wedding." Not much would happen in Gaza if all life halted for every volley of shots.
 Photo by Marylynn G. Hewitt, SFO | The Michigan CatholicA woman peers through the doorway of a home in the Gaza Strip as incursionscontinue in Beit Hanoun. | We wake the morning of Nov. 1 to the roar of the waves of the Mediterranean Sea yards from each room at the Al Deira Hotel within the military recognized no-bomb area of Gaza.
We plan to tour Rafah, the Gaza border to Egypt. There are former Israeli settlements along the border, and tunnels where weapons are smuggled. We are to meet with the governor and the doctor at a mental health program.
Omar I. Sha'ban, CRS' Gaza field manager, meets us at an early-morning breakfast on a patio overlooking the sea. He says he thinks it's best that we do not go to Rafah.
In Arabic, he speaks rapid fire into his cell phone gathering information about an overnight incursion at Beit Hanoun, the border city we need to go through to get to the Erez crossing. With the Presidential Guard with us, we head to the CRS office for a meeting. Omar carries on a string of quick, tense conversations. At the office, the meeting is abandoned. Omar says he has "a feeling" we just need to get out.
A pall settles inside the van as we drive through the city of Gaza toward Beit Hanoun. Omar makes and takes a chain of calls and the military police pull alongside us, blocking intersections so we can move through.
"We need to go around it," Omar tells the driver. "We cannot go through."
It is a mad dash as we skirt the border of the Beit Hanoun. We see the F16 jets first and then the helicopters.
Tom Garofalo, CRS' country representative, has been in Gaza "probably 10 times" in the 14 months in the country. He says he's never seen it like this.
Next to us, the body of one just killed is carried as hundreds march behind shouting in anger and grief.
Silently we move down a small hill and approach a bend. Wide-eyed young men and boys run toward us shouting "Do not come" and "The road is closed."
We see men by shacks on the roadside motioning only with their hands, telling us to go back. The military escort, once a way to get through the city, it now a liability. It backs up and leaves.
Omar has information from someone just ahead. Move now and we should be fine. We approach the border from one side and tanks amble through the area on the other.
No one says a word. I cannot even pray, but the words "St. Michael the archangel defend us in battle" run through my mind. If there was a soundtrack, it would be silent as we hurtle to the border.
Ten people, including a child, died that morning. More have died since.
I know others were praying for us. There are no words efficient enough to thank them. It will take time for my heart and my mind to unpack all my eyes saw that morning — and what others see more often. I pray I will never forget it. And I pray more fervently for peace.
Marylynn G. Hewitt, SFO, is the managing editor of The Michigan Catholic.
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